La vie est ailleurs
by A Quarter Past
Summary: After a four year away mission in the Beta Quadrant, the EMH returns to Earth in hopes of reestablishing his friendship with Admiral Janeway. He can't help but be reminded of the reasons he left, however, when his homecoming gift ends up being an adventure.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This was supposed to be a crack!fic oneshot. And then I wrote 20,000 words and cried over where my life was taking me. Watch out for the convoluted sentence structures and the choppy waters, I write crack when I'm sick. Also, for anyone wondering why I keep doing this to you ("how many stories are you going to have open at a time?), it is because my brain is a horrible thing, and because I'm secretly hoping someone out there will get so angry at me for not writing fast enough, that they will post their own EMH/Janeway story.

Ner.

Disclaimer: The universe is not my own; the insanity is.

* * *

La vie est ailleurs

i.

Earth. An incandescent blue marble of cultural depth. A beacon of peace and the leading model of social justice (save the few questionable executive orders) for nearly a century. It had one moon, more a glorified shipyard than a celestial satellite but still disproportionally important in astropolitics by association, and was located in a star system that was the envy of the sector.

All the best views, all the important people, all tucked into a tiny corner of the astronomically large Alpha Quadrant. Even the cluster of space surrounding it was so attractive that it was slapped onto an entire line of over-priced Ferengi holocards: _Wishing you were here_.

It was a spectacular planet, to be sure, but it did not change the fact that the Doctor had chosen not to step foot on its soil or ecologically friendly walkways in nearly four years.

This was for a very good reason, naturally. That being that Admiral Kathryn Janeway was trying to kill him.

Or so the running theory went.

(This was not something he shared with the others, as he feared it might taint the beloved Captain-cum-Admiral's sterling reputation. Well, it was a sort of bronzed reputation, now that Starfleet had made its way through seven years of complicated command decisions. He did not feel up to reducing it to tin.)

For instance, as he had explained to Tom Paris on the eve of his four year mission into deep space – Earth, while infinitely lovely and peaceful and a slew of other saccharinely sweet adjectives, was understandably boring for an EMH. Especially for an EMH that had spent the first seven years of its sentient life traveling in uncharted space, mapping new diseases, and then finding treatments for them.

Harry had simply assumed that he left because of the elaborate wedding between Chakotay and Seven that took place nearly a year to the day after their miraculous return to the Alpha Quadrant. While the Doctor hadn't been particularly pleased by his protigee's choice in partner, he also hadn't the heart to destroy Harry's romantic notions with a lethal dose of truth: If Seven's and Chakotay's nuptials had been the true catalyst, the Doctor would not have waited two years to flee.

Because Earth – despite its unacknowledged meaninglessness in the context of the entire universe – was still large enough for a hologram to avoid newlyweds.

Tuvok was not the sort to make assumptions, but his logic had told him that the Doctor was leaving Earth because – after three years of actively struggling through private panels with Starfleet admirals – he had finally been granted full autonomy and citizenship within the Federation.

And, "What emotional being would not capitalize on their new freedom?"

Naomi had said it was because he was mean, but the Doctor suspected she'd said this simply because she'd miss their bi-monthly lunches (he simply wished she would learn an new adjective, like _unkind_ or _foul_ or _odious_).

It was B'Elanna Paris who had, oddly enough, come closest to the best truth while running a regular diagnostic on his program. She'd simply put into words, in that eloquent way unique only to her, what he had been trying to conceptualize for nearly the entire year before.

"The Admiral is going to be the death of you."

He'd agreed, and for the first time since he'd been granted the title of her child's godfather, the two bonded over awkward laughter and juvenile tinkering with his programming. (He still had that garish, green toupee she had added to his holographic wardrobe – half-Klingons just didn't fall over in laughter enough, and the memory of this warranted the space it took up in his program).

After leaving the Paris' home with a clean bill of health, the Doctor had immediately contacted Starfleet Command and requested an off-world assignment. So off-world that transmissions sometimes gave up halfway to their destination and fizzled into space buzz.

Because Earth may have be large enough to avoid an unfortunately married couple, but it did not even begin to have enough surface area to consider ducking the attentions of Admiral Janeway.

Especially when her office was exactly a block and a half from his own.

She was the only person he had ever known who could give him a healthy dose of mortality when he needed it the least. An impressive feat, considering that Starfleet medical doctors were, on a whole, so hyperaware of death that they had underground betting pools on the mortality rates of just about any new crisis and disease.

As he had been the only person from Voyager that she could contact during the odd hours of the night with some harebrained mission or another (which was especially the case after Chakotay and Seven followed Tom and B'Elanna into the land of the blissfully wed), he was usually the one at her side in those early days, being thrust face-to-face with what it meant to be able to die.

(Mostly, he had thrust face-to-face with what it meant for her to be able to die. Which, contrary to what she appeared to believe, was much more likely than she thought and grew more likely by the hour)

The last he'd heard, Kathryn had taken a desk job after his rather abrupt departure, and spent her time chiding captains for unnecessarily dangerous actions taken during inherently dangerous missions.

The irony had not escaped him.

Now, as he stood on the pleasant San Francisco, Starfleet Headquarter's campus, arbitrarily breathing in pleasant, San Francisco air for the first time in four years, he only hoped she'd give him enough time to settle in before attempting anything he would feel morally obligated to warn her against. Not even _Kathryn_ should be able to wrangle him into chaos so quickly.

Especially considering that no nefarious plots seemed to be brewing in the Federation at present.

Admittedly, his traveling the short distance to see her was much safer than the alternative of her coming to see him, but it still hurt that she probably had something more important to spend her time on than welcoming him back. The Doctor was left to assume that, since his friend had not been there to greet him when he'd transported in from McKinley station, the Admiral would be deep at work digging into the reports of some reckless captain or another.

(The last he had heard from her, Kathryn had been knee-deep wading through the mess made by Captain Riker and his crew – who had saved and entire star system from the Breen, but who had also managed to realign the natural orbit of a comet that passed through a much more primitive system's orbit. No calamities had resulted from it, but she'd muttered something about it completely readjusting local religious practices.)

His ego was spared, however, as a number of the officers (and more than one member of the brass) gave him quick yet pleasant greetings as he entered the short and sleek building that housed Kathryn's office. Several inquired about the nature and productivity of his mission, while others congratulated him on his pending reassignment to the chair of Starfleet Medical's Preventative Medicines department.

The aide in Kathryn Janeway's office, however, greeted him with an apologetic frown.

"I'm afraid you've just missed her, Doctor."

ii

Kathryn Janeway had a house.

It wasn't ridiculous, just entirely unexpected.

The Doctor was used to thinking of of the Admiral only in the context of a sterilized Starfleet shuttles and offices and compartmentalized apartments – which said less about his imagination than it did about his friend, certainly. In the three years he'd spent on Earth after their return, she had never made any indication that she wanted to set down actual roots on the planet she had worked so hard to get her crew back to. Nor had they really discussed it in any of their rare correspondences in the last four.

(He would have liked to, if only because it was hers).

Oh, it was a lovely piece of architecture, to be sure – classic 22nd century with clear lines, stone, wood and more greenery than the eyes actually knew what to do with. Too much greenery – someone with her schedule should not have the time to take care of a lawn that large and that magnificent. (She _had_ shown a small interest in gardening on _Voyager_ as well as after their return, but never at this level of expertise).

And he really shouldn't be worried about the scenery because it was Kathryn – not the plants – who he'd come to see (although, it was becoming painfully clear to him, that the plants were probably in a much more receptive mood).

Well, he would be able to see her if she would answer the door chime, which he'd made ample use of in the last several minutes. If she made him wait any longer, the Doctor was going to find a way to override the system and have the thing ping out Klingon Opera at her – surely she would not let_ that _go on for more than only a few seconds before at least threatening to shoot him.

"Admiral!" He called out, "Kathryn! I know you're here; you're aide was kind enough to tell me so..."

After a few more seconds.

"You can't still be upset with me!"

He began to knock when it was clear that she could.

"Can't we discuss this like mature, Starfleet officers? Oh never mind..." he punched in his medical codes, which immediately forced the door open, and thanked whatever deity that was still around to listen that she had not changed her security parameters to lock him out.

What he noticed first was not the tasteful decorations that lined the inside of her front hallway and sitting room or the impressive way many of the computer panels had been disguised as wall art. What he noticed was that the tasteful decorations and wall art had all been overturned and left with scorch marks, which could mean only one of two things:

Either Kathryn Janeway had decided to redecorate her house with a phaser rifle, or she had been kidnapped.

"Of course," the Doctor sighed, a hand raising to rub his forehead, "What would a homecoming be without the welcoming party?"

He slapped a hand against his chest, where his communicator usually was, and realized the move was a futile one. The blue and black of his medical uniform had been replaced with civilian clothing today, which was rather shortsighted in hindsight. With another sigh he tapped into his appearance algorithms and put on his uniform (so to speak).

This time the slap produced a chirp,

"EMH to Lt. McCleary."

The aide's soprano voice echoed off the walls, "Lt. McCleary here, Doctor. If she's not letting you in, there's not..."

"Let's say that I'm in the Admiral's house. Hypothetically."

"Of course. Hypothetically."

"Is there anyone who might want to use her foyer walls as target practice for their phaser?"

"Is this still hypothetical?"

"There's a Monet here with a corner of the frame singed off."

"That's not good."

Before he could award the young woman with the prize for the greatest understatement of the Quadrant, the Doctor felt his program undergoing a forced deactivation via external stimuli. Which was just a fancy way of saying that the deactivation was the direct result of phaser fire hitting his mobile emitter.

"Of course," he flickered once, and then was gone.

iii

The Doctor was clearly no longer on Earth (but was instead tucked rather securely in the confines of a shuttle), and as he was left to ponder how quickly it had taken for his leave to devolve into chaos, Kathryn Janeway was busy tinkering with the controls on his mobile emitter.

Aside from the fresh bruise coloring the curve of her cheek, she looked better than he had feared she would after being shot at.

"Fortunately the phaser setting was low, if she'd damaged your emitter without transferring your program –" she didn't need to finish that statement, and so Kathryn didn't.

"Did you manage to notify anyone of the struggle?" She asked instead.

"Are we considering that I hadn't anticipated walking into an active kidnapping?"

"Yes," she snorted, strangely good-natured about his sarcasm.

"Well then. McCleary had an open comm-line with me when I was deactivated. She knows that there was phaser fire in your house. Help can't be far behind."

When she only hummed in response and began to search their area for anything useful, the Doctor scowled in her direction and immediately began to complain,

"Why can't we do normal things like normal people. For instance, I transport into San Francisco after four years in deep space, and you greet me with a, 'Hello, Doctor, it's nice to see you again?' Why do we have to get shot at by your disgruntled ex-crew?"

Kathryn, for her part, was actually mustering a soft yet still radiant grin (amusement was only beautiful on her when it wasn't a direct result of his hurt feelings), "Hello, Doctor, it's nice to see you again."

"You're just saying that to make me not be upset that _someone_ let Gilmore into their home without checking her for a weapon first. We've been over this before, Kathryn: emotional instability brought on by an dishonorable discharge from Starfleet because _you _filed a formal reprimand. In her _file_."

"She's been getting help," Kathryn shrugged, looking all the world as if being kidnapped was one of those easily reconciled things that just happened to happen in her life. Along with Borg invasions, decade-long quests for home, and Neelix's cooking.

He scoffed, "Clearly not enough."

"We've had bi-monthly tea for three years, as per her counselor's request. Marla was showing promising progress, and had even started a fulfilling new career teaching cosmology in a private academy. How was I to suspect that she'd choose today, of all days, to shoot at me?"

There was a certain logic to her logic, but the Doctor knew how the universe's usual patterns of reason and probability tended to contort when it came Kathryn Janeway, "Because _I_ was scheduled to arrive in San Francisco today."

A familiar hardness appeared in her gaze, one that, while difficult to see in the dim light of the shuttle, was still noticeable enough that it transformed Kathryn into the Captain he had once been used to seeing Delta Quadrant, not the friend he knew in the Alpha (which meant, of course, that he'd hit closer to the truth than she liked).

"Why would she wait for you to show up again before kidnapping me?"

"Because that's how these things happen with you!"

"Don't be absurd, Doctor," Kathryn snapped, all of the pleasure that had painted her features when she'd managed to reactivate him disappearing behind a scowl.

"Both of you," Marla growled from her place at the controls, "shut up, and stop talking about me like I'm not ten feet away from you."

The Doctor glared at her through the forcefield that separated the pair from the pilot, "You _kidnapped _us, we get to say whatever we like about you. For instance, your aim is terrible!"

Marla shot a strained smile his way, "I got _you_ in one go, didn't I?"

He remained silent.

"Too bad, too," she added, "It's never too long since I've seen you last."

Kathryn made a sound of agreement, to which the Doctor responded with a pained gasp before crossing his arms over his chest with a grumble. Marla, meanwhile, adjusted their course silently while the Admiral ignored them both, her jaw jutted out in a distinct signal of her annoyance.

_You look good_, he wanted to say to her angry profile.

It was clear she was taking the supplements they had never been able to replicate in bulk in the Delta Quadrant. The ones designed to prolong the life and the youth of Federation citizens. The ones that eased the deep lines of concern that marred all captain's and admiral's faces, softened the hair and repaired the premature aging of internal organs due to stress. He'd _wanted_ to say it, but that was before she decided to hurt his feelings.

Instead, he sneered at Gilmore, "You could have just left my mobile emitter on the Admiral's floor."

To Kathryn, he snapped, "Wake me up when you get us back to Earth."

And then, with all the petulance his subroutines could muster, he deactivated himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Part two, as promised so very long ago. Who bets the Admiral and her trusted Doctor are about to go on an adventure? I doooo. Boo, spoilers.

i

Earth. A Class M planet with approximately 510,000,000 kilometers of surface area (land surface area, water surface area, seven continents of arbitrary national borders surface area. Sometimes it changed, but most times it stayed exactly the same. Big. Blue. Green. And brown). Larger than Mars and more beautiful than the painted deserts of Vulcan, and because of the latter, it was the subject of a significant amount of poetry.

If Kathryn Janeway were perfectly honest with herself, she'd admit that she had grown inexplicably tired of all 510,000,000 kilometers of it in the seven years since _Voyager's _successful voyage home (a cosmic irony if there ever was one, but there you have it). She didn't care to read the poetry inspired by it, or the thousands of travel guides that sang its praises, and frankly the newest wave of music drove her absolutely mad.

But Kathryn Janeway was rarely honest with herself, and so as she piloted the shuttle back into the orbit of her home planet, she stifled that feeling of regret. The one that suggested that breaking past the forcefield barrier to render Marla unconscious had been a very prudent idea by the way of self-preservation but had also ruined the first chance of off-world excitement to present itself to her in over a year.

Scowling, she thumbed the small piece of 29th century technology, triggering it's primary function.

(Some people had all of the luck and just didn't know it).

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency," the Doctor looked around quickly, then down at Kathryn, "Well, I'm glad to see you're still alive."

"Hard to kill," she deadpanned, her fingers still guiding the shuttle along its not-entirely-cleared route home.

"Doesn't keep anyone from trying. Weekly." her friend shot back. He threw a look over his shoulder and quirked a brow at his incapacitated abductor, "Do I need to examine her?"

Kathryn took the time to look where he pointed. Marla Gilmore was in a prone fetal position behind the forcefield she had devised, very likely suffering from a mild concussion but very little else, "You're the doctor, that's your call."

"You're absolutely right. I can't expect a Starfleet admiral with little experience in medicine to determine whether or not she's given permanent brain damage to anyone, now, can I?" the Doctor's sarcasm was heavy and to the point – he was still sulking.

"We'll be back in San Francisco in less than an hour. Leave it to Starfleet Medical."

The incredulous expression on the EMH's face went unnoticed by the woman piloting the small vessel. She clearly was upset with her companion about _something_, he just wasn't able to figure out what, "I-I, I have never heard a more preposterous thing in my life, Kathryn. Leave it to Starfleet Medical. Her brain could be bleeding into her cranial cavity, and you want me to leave it to Starfleet Medical."

"Oh shut up, would you?"

The slightly high voice of Gilmore made both turn abruptly. The blonde was cradling her head in one hand and propping herself up with the other, "She hit me in the head with her fists, Doctor. She didn't bludgeon me with the warp core."

The Doctor sniffed, "I was only thinking in your best interest. As a doctor, it is my responsibility to..."

"Yeah yeah, provide medical attention to everyone, including those who shoot you with a phaser and insult your ego. I get it," Gilmore pushed herself up and stood on unsteady feet, "Owh. This did not go according to plan."

"Which was what, exactly?" Kathryn prompted.

"Like I'm going to tell you."

"Of course not," the Doctor mumbled. At seeing the thoughtful expression on his friend's face, his slackened with disbelief,

"...I know that look. It's the one that always leads to six hour surgeries."

Kathryn shushed him and turned that thoughtful yet shrewd glare to Gilmore, "You're about an hour or so away from being slapped with a handful of charges, none of which come with light sentence. Since you didn't actually succeed at whatever it is you were attempting, I'd be willing to help you broker for lesser charges, but you have to tell me what all of this was about."

Ever the diplomat, the Admiral had managed to make the ex-convict-cum-parolee-cum-kidnapper pucker her lips in consideration.

ii

This is how his homecoming should have gone and would have gone if Kathryn Janeway weren't such an emotional sinkhole:

"Doctor! It's good to see you!"

The raspy tones were on the lower end of the spectrum of excitement as the traditional blue haze faded from around the EMH. Standing just metres from the teleportation pad was the natural auburn of a petite stature, wearing her grey, red, and black uniform, her face twisted in a smirk-smile that she could (and probably should) trademark, along with that hand on her hip.

"Kathryn, what a delight it is to see you again and in such a safe setting!"

Cue her other trademarked expression, an exaggerated eye roll, and the Doctor's very own smug smile. Also cue a solid hug, largely initiated by the latter but fully appreciated by the former (although, she would firmly deny it if you asked), a little bit of awkward small talk (because it _has _been four years after all), and an invitation for a day-trip to Buenos Ares for coffee.

This is how his homecoming actually went, because Kathryn Janeway _was_ such an emotional sinkhole, and because the universe didn't seem to function properly without warping her life (and by extension the lives of those around her) into a dime novel plot whenever it could:

"You mean to tell me that you kidnapped a Starfleet Admiral because that Admiral is the ransom a gang of stray Breen have demanded for your significant other?"

Which was short for the EMH's always unasked, _What the actual hell?_

"Not so much the Breen as the thugs they've hired."

The Doctor rounded on Kathryn, "Since when have the Breen become _this _annoying?"

His friend, who had up until this point seemed to be wandering aimlessly around in her thoughts, allowed her eyes to finally focus on him, "Since the last two years of our voyage home. They've been steadily making their way up the Federation's list of generally annoying species since."

Gilmore, not knowing the intricacies of the relationship in front of her, frowned in thought. Ten minutes ago she might have scowled, but neither had been particularly rude to her since she'd begun explaining her reasoning for this entire affair, "The Federation keeps a Generally Annoying Species list? GAS? Really?"

Kathryn waved her hand noncommittally, "In so many words. We don't like to group the truly threatening species in with the proverbial mosquitos. The Breen hover around the same rung as the Ferengi, about three rungs up from the actual mosquito."

When the Doctor finished snorting out his amusement, the Admiral continued, "But this is fairly new. Resorting to the kidnapping of a Federation citizen in order to incite the kidnapping of a Starfleet officer takes quite a bit of insight, not to mention intel. They would have had to have known that you have lunch with me on a regular basis, the travel schedule of all of those significant to you, because I'm sure had your partner not been available, they would have readily gone after a family member – say your sister, Claire."

The once-engineer blinked owlishly, and the Doctor was beginning to almost feel sorry for her. It wasn't her fault that she had the honor of being personally targeted by a group of racially ambiguous thugs looking to score a hit against the already stumbling Federation of Planets. Which,

"Doesn't explain why they decided to go after you, Kathryn," he said rather bluntly.

To which she rolled her eyes ruefully, "I may have been sitting behind a desk for four years, but that doesn't mean I haven't drafted and overseen a number of deep space missions that pass by their borders. I'm not the most important pip on the Federation's collar, but I'm the one these people have been hearing about for the last three and a half years."

Gilmore, who was now almost completely relaxed, as she had come to figure that neither her victims viewed themselves as her victims any more but rather gave that title to her because-really-honestly she was, sighed, "But that doesn't explain why they would take the trouble to go through me and not just personally kidnap someone close to you. Like, him..." she jutted a finger at the EMH.

Who, as if on cue, gave a derisive little sneer, "The Beta Quadrant is a long ways from Breen space."

At the exact same time the Admiral shrugged, "He's just a hologram."

"Excuse me!"

"The Breen don't acknowledge the value of non-organic lifeforms. Do you really expect them to believe that you're so very high on the list of people I care about?"

This sent the EMH into a full two minutes of stuttering indignantly in righteous anger until he finally gave up, allowed his shoulders to slump, and tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that Kathryn really didn't feel the same way about holograms that the Breen did.

_Did she?_

With a tired sigh, Kathryn lifted herself from the pilot's seat and gave him a swift pat on the back – in apology or as if to answer his silent question, the Doctor did not know.

"You probably should have told me all of this before you kidnapped me, and my aide overheard the Doctor mention the disarray of my sitting room. Now, at the moment you are a suspect in the abduction of a somewhat high ranking Starfleet officer, and you're going to be arrested for it, but when the Doctor and I return with Mr. Andrews, I'm sure we can get all of these charges dropped under the defense of duress."

Gilmore spluttered and turned a violent shade of red, "But I'm going with you!"

"No," Kathryn let the word roll, "I'm afraid you're not."

"But why!? Stephen is my responsibility! I can't just sit by in a brig, waiting for someone else to rescue him!"

The Doctor watched stoically as his friend began entering the transport commands into the computer. Now within the range of Earth, Kathryn could make her choice of Starfleet approved transport-sites, any of which would have a security detail waiting for the blonde.

There was a touch of an apology in the Admiral's tone when she spoke next, "You're a great engineer, Marla, but you're also a lousy shot. We have all the information we need to begin the search for your Mr. Andrews; leave it to us."

As the blue haze of the transporter began to engulf the younger woman, the Doctor tossed up a hand to catch her attention, "And ask for a medic when you reach Earth. That concussion is going to need to be treated!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Need I remind you that this story is partially crack? I mean, the meta...it's spilling everywhere...Please be aware that days are passing by in this story. Because it takes awhile to get from point A to point B, although the trek writers would like you to think otherwise.

Also, for those of you who have been following my health (and sending such wonderful messages my way), I just wanted to say thank you. I'm currently in the final stages of treatment, have literally just begun taking my Thyroid Hormone Replacements (synthroid) and hope to be well on the way to recovery by the middle of next week. It's been a wild ride, but it's been a ride I know I would one day make it off of.

Thanks for your support!

i

Earth was gone.

A barely-there speck of blue in the horizon of space, an insignificant blip in the shuttle's sensor readings. All of that land, all of that water, all of those people, reduced to nothing but a placeholder on the broader celestial map of the Milky Way Galaxy. Nothing to gawk over, nothing to write home about, nothing but just another destination in four quadrants full of destinations.

_And good riddance to that_, thought a determined Kathryn Janeway.

(The Doctor felt a little cheated. Today was supposed to be his _homecoming_ after all, not a layover in the middle of a much grander adventure. Although, if you asked him, he'd tell you to qualify the term 'grander'; impromptu rescue missions were growing so cliched as of late).

Alone for the first time in four years, our intrepid pair naturally had very little clue of what they should start saying to one another. This, of course, did not actually prevent them from speaking. Because, honestly, once one began to prattle on about something, the other had to make the attempt to drown out the sound of the first's voice (purely on principle, you see). So, while Kathryn focused entirely on outlining the rescue mission, right down to the minutest of detail (this was made that much more possible thanks to the files Gilmore had oh-so-conveniently left in the shuttle's computer), the Doctor made the occasional comment on how it was nice to be back into the swing of things in the Alpha Quadrant (with a tone that suggested otherwise).

This strained non-conversation lasted roughly two days of Warp Four travel before the stubborn denial grew stale and began to suffocate at least one of those who were present to bear witness to it.

The computer, which began to immediately signal the presence of a fairly large Starfleet vessel off of their port bow.

"Of all the dead space..." Kathryn groaned, just as the Doctor called up the information only she had been privy to seconds before.

"Really? What are the chances of that?"

"Astronomical."

As both fell into a companionable, self-pitying silence, Chakotay's attractive features filled their view screen. Upon seeing both of them (staring quite sullenly back at him), his dark eyes lit in amusement and his lips quirked, "_Voyager_ to the shuttle _Ailleurs."_

The Doctor gagged on the irony, "We're really in a shuttle called the _Ailleurs_?"

"It would seem so," Kathryn deadpanned, now attempting to hide her own amusement. When she finally calmed herself enough to speak again, the Admiral turned her attention back toward the awaiting Captain, "Chakotay, a pleasure as always. Tom," she added, upon seeing the XO smirking in the corner of the screen.

"Admiral," the blonde acknowledged, "can't say we were expecting to see you in this part of space, in an uncleared Starfleet vessel."

Kathryn waved her hand at him, "The Doctor and I ran into a little paperwork trouble a few days ago upon our departure. Nothing to be concerned over. Give it another hour to go through the channels at Headquarters and it'll all be cleared."

Which, to anyone who knew her, meant, "_Mind your own business_."

Chakotay and Tom shared a glance, at least one of the two trying to determine if pressing the issue further was such a good idea. It wasn't an argument by any means, but there was certainly a difference of opinion between the two, who could obviously see that there was more going on here than the Doctor or Admiral wanted them to know about.

Tom's rationality (as foreign as the concept may seem) won out out and the Captain of _Voyager_ turned his dark gaze back to the viewscreen, offering a non-committed, "Did you need any assistance?"

Before Kathryn could deny a perfectly good offer of help and add at least another five days to their mission, the Doctor spoke up, "Ah. Yes, actually. Our sensors aren't as powerful as _Voyager_'s. The woes of shuttle-travel, as you know. Could you scan the region for any Breen vessels or indication of Breen activity in the last, say, three days or so?"

"Ow!" he swore quietly, when Kathryn stomped on his foot just out of range of the view screen.

"Holograms have feelings too," he hissed quietly in her direction.

"Must be to make up for their lack of good sense," she muttered back, from the corner of her mouth.

If there was a snort of amusement from the bridge of _Voyager_, neither the Doctor nor Kathryn acknowledged its existence.

(Chakotay, however, was another story, and seemed to be sending a glare of warning askance at one of the crewmen offscreen. For once, Tom remained stoic in the background, tapping at the controls near his command chair, until he finally managed to suss out something useful from all the space buzz surrounding both vessels).

"There are two residual warp trails about seven light years from here. Both appear to be from the same vessel; I'll send the most recent data your way."

"Sure you wouldn't like our help?" Chakotay added, "We're heading back to Earth for debriefings, it wouldn't be that far out of either of our way."

Kathryn looked at him in a way that suggested she'd rather ask a room full of Vulcan's going through Pon Far for assistance than go back to Earth with him; he took it in stride, blaming her sour expression on the fact that she'd spent what appeared to be a prolonged period of time with the equally irate EMH.

When the pleasantries were concluded, and the occupants of the shuttle were left to their own company once more (_with far more helpful data than they had had previously, thank-you-very-much_, the EMH would remind you), Kathryn put the spacecraft into autopilot and stood from her chair.

While in the middle of stretching, she tossed her companion the stink eye, "You know they're going to follow us just out of sensor range."

"Of course I know _that_," the Doctor responded, exasperated by the accusation in her tone, "Who else do you think is going to swoop in and save us at the last minute? I don't know about you, but I've grown a little tired of owing drinks to Cardassian and Ferengi converts."

Kathryn snorted, a sound that broke the tension between them about as well as a toothpick on a dam might, before she turned to head toward the back of the shuttle, "You know I can't stand it when you start going meta on me."

The EMH paused for a second (_no_, he didn't _know_ that), "Oh, come on, Kathryn! You know that I can't help it; it's my statistical probability algorithms."

When she continued walking, he shouted after her, "You can't tell me you haven't noticed the pattern either!?"

ii

The Doctor was beginning to suspect that Kathryn was holding a small grudge.

(And by small, he was using an astronomical scale not one of those quantum physics 'quark' scales, where you couldn't even see what you were talking about but had to abuse your imagination into _picturing_ it).

Say, about the distance between Earth and Deep Space Nine (five and a half days), which is how long it took for her to come back from the depths of_ Ailleurs_ to reclaim her piloting seat, a fresh cup of replicated coffee in her hand.

The EMH, who had been rereading the French manuscript the shuttle had no doubt been named after, looked up only after she gave him a grunt in greeting. Oh yes, definitely a grudge; she was never very good at hiding them beneath subtle subtext or faux smiles. Liked to just bash you about the head with them, Kathryn Janeway did. Most would have realized this four days ago, but the Doctor was a bit blind when it came to human emotions, and had only just stumbled upon it in the last day of their journey.

"Okay, so maybe I should have left with more warning," he declared.

Kathryn grunted.

"Or any warning at all," he amended.

She tilted her head.

"Certainly more than a, 'I'm off to the Beta Quadrant! See you in four years.'"

"Perhaps," she agreed.

The Doctor smiled at her; she did not smile back.

He sighed, "I didn't want anyone to have the time to talk me out of it."

"Like Harry?" There was an undercurrent to her tone, as if she didn't really expect him to think that Harry of all people would talk him out of a deep space mission to the Beta Quadrant.

This was a test - he hated her tests.

The Doctor adjusted his collar, "Ah, well, not exactly. Harry actually found the mission and had Chakotay put in the good word for me, so that doesn't make much sense. Maybe Tuvok, or...or...or..."

By the expression on her face (the one that was torn between disgust, which she usually threw at a Delta Quadrant alien that was getting on her nerves, and pity), the Doctor could tell that he was failing quite miserably.

The stuttering didn't help.

"Oh for the love of," he pressed his palms against his forehead and let out a needless breath, "I was absolutely convinced that if I told you in advance, we'd end up on one of these harebrained rescue attempts on the day of my mission's departure. Just another attempt by the universe and advanced calculus to subvert my career aspirations. There. I said it. And it was meta; I don't care."

Kathryn's brow scrunched in a way that said she was trying to understand but couldn't quite, "But it was a quiet day when you left."

His eyes bulged, "Oh, don't you go blame this on me!"

"In fact, if I think back," a wicked smile was forming, as if she was finally being vindicated for his abandonment, and couldn't wait to rub his holographic face in it "It's been a quiet _four_ years. Well...it was..."

He gasped, and stood, "You are! You are blaming this on me! Of all the low, subversive, logically convoluted things you could do in a situation like this, this is by far the most..."

"Deep Space Nine to_ Ailleurs_, we've received your request to dock and have granted you permission. Please alter your course to those specified in the coordinates we have just sent you and have a pleasant stay."

Aglow with her righteousness, Kathryn began to follow the voice's commands, and added a quick, "Try not to blow up the loading dock with your bruised ego, Doctor" to her smirk.

iii

Safely aboard _Voyager_, approximately two light years beyond the _Ailleurs_' sensor range, Tom Paris and Chakotay were sharing a drink and a disastrous game of Kal-Toh. They'd spent the better part of three days gathering information on the Breen while Kathryn and the Doctor sulked, and had come to some unsettling but otherwise harmless (on a scale of one to ten of how badly this could turn out as compared to how things usually did when they had been in the Delta Quadrant, this would be a three) conclusions.

"Think they've realized they're being followed yet?"

"By us or the Breen's henchmen?" Tom attempted to smother a burp, and was only mildly successful.

Chakotay sniffed in mock disgust, "They know we're following them; Kathryn hasn't lost her touch there. I mean the henchmen."

"Knowing the Admiral, she's counting on it."

"Knowing the Doctor, he's counting on us to save the day."

Tom nodded in agreement and reached for his drink, "B'Elanna may have added a few new features to his probability algorithms the last time she saw him. Four years ago, was it? She said he'd need it if he was going to survive being the Admiral's friend."

At this and its implications, Chakotay laughed heartily,

What a wonderful parlor joke all of this would make one day.

* * *

Ailleurs is French for "Elsewhere".


End file.
